Josiah is a Tub-Pooper. This is a phenomenon new and strange and horrible.
The other two boys didn’t do it. I used to hear other mums’ stories and think to myself, “Oh, that’s unfortunate for you… my child doesn’t do it, has never done it, surely would never do it!”
So now it has come full circle and I stand proudly with all the other mums out there who have suffered as I do.
I now know what it is to feel that initial burst of horror as I see things floating in the tub that are, I eventually note, not toys.
I now know what it is to just stare momentarily, not knowing where to start, thinking in slow-motion, “what do I do first? Child out? Toys out? Poop out?”, all the while, doing nothing but stare.
I now know that feeling of incredulity as I observe Josiah’s interest in playing with the poop while I panic and scream for back-up.
Out comes the child and off he runs, laughing, likely to go and pee in the hallway. Out come the toys to be put, where? Where shall I put the toys? Screams for a plastic bag echo through the house.
And then, in the quiet following the storm, I am deeply humbled, as I scoop floating poop out of the tub and into the toilet with my bare hands, and try to catch the big chunks from going down the drain as I let the water out.
Finally, I am embarrassed, for thinking that perhaps I don’t have to wash the toys, because he pooped at this end of the tub, while the toys were in fact down at the other end and, well, how bad can a little poop be, anyway?
So now, as I scrub and bleach the tub and toys for a third time this week, I realize that I am a fully-initiated member of the Mothers-Who-Do-Nothing-But-Clean-Up-Poop-All-Day-Long Club, and stand proud for my contribution to a cleaner society.
By the way, how long is this stage going to last? I’m just about out of bleach…
